


A Final Farewell

by Telaryn



Series: The Tale of Eliot Spencer and Ellen Harvelle [21]
Category: Leverage/SPN
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:59:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following events in Carthage, Missouri, the Winchesters bring a final letter from Ellen to Eliot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Final Farewell

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://angst-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://angst-bingo.livejournal.com/)**angst_bingo** , for the prompt "emails, letters, etc.". I know I thought the "last time" prompt would stand as the end of their 'verse, but this couple is just the fic gift that keeps on giving!

_Sam and Dean Winchester._ Eliot knew the second they walked into McCrory’s, that whatever had brought the boys to Boston wasn’t good.

“Eliot?”

“Old friends,” he said absently, responding to all the different nuances in Nate’s use of his name. “Not a threat.” He flinched, then said instead, “Probably not a threat.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Sophie said – but there was no time to answer her. Dean and Sam were walking towards him.

“Hey man,” Sam greeted him. Eliot shook the younger Winchester‘s hand, but kept his attention on Dean.

Mercifully, the other man didn’t keep him guessing; getting right to the point. “Is there some place we can talk?”

Nodding, Eliot stepped away from the table; pausing only when he realized Sam wasn’t going to follow. “I’ll stay here,” he confirmed, indicating that Eliot and Dean should go on alone.

Eliot couldn’t help smiling. Parker was already looking at Dean’s younger brother like he was a particularly interesting sort of skyscraper. “Your funeral,” he said. His eyes slid to Nate and Sophie, and he sobered. “I’ll be all right.”

The weight of whatever news Dean was carrying hung between them, as Eliot led the way to the poker room. “She’s dead, isn’t she?” he asked as soon as they crossed the threshold into McRory’s empty back room. “Ellen.”

Dean turned to face him, and the truth in his eyes was like a blow to Eliot’s solar plexus. Staggered, he groped blindly for the nearest chair and sank into it. “I’m sorry, man,” Dean said; stepping past him automatically to shut the door. “We were working a job in Missouri. She and Jo both…I…”

Still stunned, Eliot scrubbed a hand across his face. _I should have been there. I never should have left her._ The reasons he’d had for going, that had all been so sane and sensible at the time, seemed like the worst sorts of excuse in light of what had happened.

 _They’re like family._ Recalling Ellen’s maternal feelings for the Winchester boys, Eliot looked up into Dean’s eyes again. He was clearly devastated; Eliot could tell at a glance he would have given anything not to have to be doing this. “We…um…found this in her things.” He pulled a sealed, crumpled envelope out of his jacket pocket and held it out. “Sam and I figured the least we could do was make sure you got it.”

Numb, Eliot took the envelope. _Eliot Spencer_ was scrawled on the back, in Ellen’s rambling, distinctive handwriting. “Thank you,” he said – looking up at Dean again. The response was automatic; his brain was still stuck on the idea that Ellen and Jo were dead. _And you never got to say goodbye._ “You…you have no idea what this means.”

“I kind of do,” Dean said, shrugging. “I know we only met a couple of times, but a blind man could see you guys were crazy about each other.”

“Crazy.” Eliot laughed softly, turning the envelope over in his hands. “That whole year seems like a dream sometimes.” He paused, swallowing hard. “Did they suffer?”

He saw the answer in Dean’s eyes, before the hunter could figure out the right words. _Dammit, Ellen!_ He swiped absently at the hint of tears in his eyes. _I should have been there._

“Jo was attacked.” Dean was speaking again – unable to meet Eliot’s eyes now. “By hellhounds. She was dying. Ellen refused to leave her Eliot, I…”

He’d crushed the letter in his hands without meaning to. “How?” he asked, hoarsely. “Just tell me how, Dean – don’t sugar coat it.”

The other man’s voice was raw. “They set a bomb, so Sam and I could get away. We tried to convince Ellen to come with us, but she didn’t want Jo to die alone. You know how she is…was…” Dean swore under his breath. “I don’t think she suffered at all.”

 _You’re wrong about that,_ Eliot thought. Even if her death had been lightning fast, Ellen would have suffered every second, right alongside her daughter. _Jo was everything to her._

Dean had reached in his pocket, and was holding out a business card. “Sam and me, we’re gonna be in town a couple of days. If you need anything…” Eliot took the card, nodding absently. The letter in his hands was suddenly the most important thing in his life.

“Dean,” he said suddenly, when he realized the door had opened again. The hunter paused, looking back over his shoulder expectantly.

“Thanks.”

Smiling sadly, Dean nodded. Then he was gone, and Eliot was alone with his letter. “Dammit, Ellen,” he muttered – tearing open the envelope, and pulling out the paper inside.

_Dearest Eliot,_

_I tried to drink an angel under the table tonight. Yes, Cowboy – an honest to goodness angel. Don’t roll your eyes that hard. You know I don’t exaggerate._

_(I also didn’t outdrink him, in case you were wondering.)_

_It’s coming up on three a.m, and I can’t believe I’m putting pen to paper instead of getting sleep like the rest of the crew. But I can’t stop thinking about all the things I’m never going to get to say to you if things go south tomorrow._

_And maybe it’s the buzz of the whiskey or the lateness of the hour, but I feel like I’m not going to make it out of this one. There’s so many things I should have done differently, and too many of them center around you. Starting with this:_

_I love you. I’ve loved you at least as long as you say you’ve loved me. I should have said it back when I had the chance, but I was afraid it would make leaving harder on you. And you had to leave, Cowboy – I know you did. I never blamed you. It was always going to be a matter of time for us – I think on some level we both know that._

_I also want you to know that if the impossible happens and I make it through this hunt alive, I’m going to find you and say all this to you in person. Seeing the truth of the apocalypse, and the world going down in flames around me makes me think I did the wrong thing by not being a little more selfish where you were concerned._

_I should have found you. I know I said I never begged for a man’s company, but you made my life better, Cowboy. You made _me__ better. Maybe we couldn’t have worked anything out, but I should have at least let you know I was willing to try.

God, I’m pathetic. This is the kind of mood that leads to tears and drunk dialing; probably best you’re not here to witness it. Although I’d like to think that if you were, you’d show me that smile of yours. You’d put your arms around me, and you’d love me and make me believe that we could walk through Hell unscathed.

And tomorrow, when we walk into Carthage, you’d be at my side, and I’d feel like anything was possible.

I can’t offer you a home anymore, Cowboy – but whatever happens, please know that you always have my love.

Ellen


End file.
